The Monster Who Went West
by BlackMajjicDuchess
Summary: '"Who needs a name? I'm perfectly happy without one. After all, that's what we are, nameless monsters." The boy ate up the monster who went west. At last he had found a name, but there was no longer anyone around to call him by it.' Johan yet lives, and his story is almost over. Oneshot.


**The Monster Who Went West**

* * *

_The castle was lonely now, with everyone gone, so the boy left on a journey. He walked and walked for days. And then one day, the boy came upon the monster who had gone west. "I have a name," said the boy, "And it's such a wonderful one at that." But the monster who went west replied, "Who needs a name? I'm perfectly happy without one. After all, that's what we are, nameless monsters." The boy ate up the monster who went west. At last he had found a name, but there was no longer anyone around to call him by it. It was such a shame, because Johan was such a wonderful name._

* * *

_"She told me what your real name is, Johan. You have a name."_

The first thing he consciously registered was the beeping, as from a machine. Beep. Beep. Beep. As steady as his heartbeat, which is what he heard next. Beep-thudmp. Beep-thudmp. Beep-thudmp. He listened to it for several minutes, barely registering anything at all. Was he dead? Was this what hell felt like? Was he cursed to endure the incessant, infernal beeping and thudding for the rest of eternity?

Even as awful as it seemed, he didn't think that would be an adequate punishment for the sins he had committed, all in the pursuit of an identity. If he could be killed-and he fervently believed that no one of humankind was capable of destroying him-then surely he deserved a worse hell than this.

_"You have a name."_

Had Tenma said that? Had Kenzo Tenma told him his name? He couldn't remember. What a shame!

Finally, he felt the muscles in his eyelids twitch at his command. Slowly, so slowly, he opened his eyes. The light in the room was blinding, and his pale blue eyes squinted with pain. The pain jolted him to his senses. So he was alive, after all. Slowly, bits and pieces of his memories drifted back from hiding. Kenzo Tenma hadn't shot him, even though he threatened to kill an innocent little boy. Tenma had still been too weak to choose the correct choice. Someone else had, though. That's the only thing that could explain his sudden unconsciousness and this damnable hospital with its damnable stench.

How long had he been out?

Silently, he extricated himself from the hospital blanket. He yanked the IV from his arm, ignoring the blood that welled in the space it had left. His whole body seared with pain. It didn't matter though. It never had. His entire life had been nothing but a wash of pain. Pain after pain after pain. Someone was always hurting him. First it had been the men who had tortured him, then it had been the mother who had thrown his sister to the Monster, then it had been his sister and her words, then it had been himself and his soulless behavior.

_Anna!_

Somehow, he had been spared. He'd been saved from death a second time. He wondered with macabre humor if it had been Kenzo Tenma who had saved him once again. The thought of it made him smile with unchecked, devilish pleasure.

He breathed in the scent of the wind blasting in through his window. It was a nice day out there.

He left through the window, still wearing his hospital gown. It wasn't long before he'd convinced some fool on the street that he was better off giving Johan his clothes and returning home naked. People were so… one-dimensional.

Singular purpose dominated his thoughts. That was his beauty, after all. He always had a goal in mind, and little cogs and pieces fell into place at his whim. People fawned over him and leapt to do his bidding, impressed with his ability to think more thoroughly than they, mere dogs slavering at the toes of the wolf, envious of his superiority. It had never been difficult for him; it'd been so ridiculously easy to turn that sheep mentality toward his ambition.

Well and so. The dogs were dead. He'd made sure of that. Everyone in the world who knew him was dead and long gone. Those that had seen his face had been killed or had died by some other means. He had ceased to exist.

_"You have a name!"_

The wisp of a memory colluded his thoughts, startling him back to reality. He hesitated at that. Did he really have a name? Who had said that? Was that just some bubble of his subconscious trying to return his humanity? Was that Anna, hiding within him, trying to return him to himself? To her? _What was his name?_

He shut his eyes, and squeezed the words from his mind. Darkness, cold and friendly, enveloped his thoughts once again. Darkness had been his only true love. Darkness had clothed him, shielded him, brought his corrupt disciples forth from the deepest, dingiest crevices of every stinking city in Europe. Darkness had been his guide. When something tries to kill you, tame it and make it yours. They'd tried to kill him in the darkness, once. Now, the darkness belonged to him. They feared the darkness now, just as he had feared it then. He didn't fear it anymore.

He had become the darkness. He had _become_ death.

Death had a name, and its name was Johan. To hell with any other name. This one was a wonderful name. It had served him well. He had worn this name as he had slaughtered his way across Germany and Czechoslovakia. Yes… yes, he would be Johan, and Johan was him.

But there was one thing left to do. He'd hinted at it when he'd shot the man who'd made all of his money for him, the last pitiful dog to die.

_"It's from a memory that only I have. The real place that I must be."_

His sister was out there, somewhere. _Anna_. She was his everything. She was their better half. The kinder half. The gentler half. The half that had a soul. He wanted to have a soul, too. He wanted to see the world as she saw it. To be happy without a name. To adopt a name that wasn't his and _make_ it his and be better for it. He wanted them to be together again, as they should have always been, before their mother had fed her to the Monster. Before Anna had escaped the Monster and come back to him, and before he'd killed everyone who had tried to take her for their own ever again. Anna belonged to him. Him, and no one else.

It was the last part of his story, and he needed it to be over, just as desperately, if not more, than all the fools who thought they could kill him. He would consume her, and then there would be no one left to call him by his name.

He needed to find The Monster Who Went West.


End file.
